


I'm hanging out on Monday (my Sunday dreams to dry)

by cobweb_diamond



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobweb_diamond/pseuds/cobweb_diamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur in the the rain and on the run. Set on the eve of Mal and Dom's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm hanging out on Monday (my Sunday dreams to dry)

‘So, how does it feel to be a free man?’

Arthur takes a little pleasure in hearing that Eames is out of breath. Long-distance running appears to be something Arthur can best him at, unlike counting cards, lock-picking, and countless other skills Eames always seems to pull out of thin air when they’re together.

 ‘Surprisingly similar to being on the run from the law,’ Arthur replies, as they slow to a walk.

‘On the run...? My, how Wild West. And not even any thanks to me for springing you?’

‘We can call it even since _you_ were the one who got me arrested in the first place,’ says Arthur, making an effort to sound as displeased as possible.

‘You law-abiding citizens. You’re so charming. Will you write to me when I’m inevitably incarcerated for being a bad, bad man?’

Eames’ teeth gleam white under the streetlights. Arthur wonders if this is how he looks after he’s just successfully scammed some poor bastard, and quickly sobers up. It’s thoughts like this that remind Arthur why he shouldn’t allow himself to get in over his head when it comes to Eames.

‘I’ll mail you the bills for all the equipment you’ve stolen from the lab,’ Arthur promises.

Arthur’s astonished that his superiors still give Eames access to the PASIVs, considering his epic criminal record. Then again, they’re yet to find anyone else who can replicate Eames’ particular abilities in the dream state.

‘It’s all worth it if I get to see you in a lab coat, darling.’

Arthur rolls his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ. And I thought it was bad when you were fetishising my cufflinks.’

‘I can’t help it if you have the wrists of an angel,’ says Eames, unrepentant. Eames’ compliments are always ludicrous, which is one of the many reasons why Arthur doesn't trust them.

‘Oh – damn,’ says Arthur, glancing at his wrist. ‘They took my watch. What time is it?’

‘After three. Time for bed?’ he adds hopefully, in a tone that indicates that he is decidedly _not_ ready to sleep.

‘If I’m not in Paris by nine on Tuesday, Dom’s going to eviscerate me,’ Arthur reminds him. ‘I need to get to the train station.’

‘Why spend hours and hours on a train when you could fly there and join the Mile High Club?’

‘The Mile High Club is cramped, unsanitary and hardly exclusive when it comes to membership. And at what point did I say you could come with me?’ Not to mention the fact that he’s living on grant money from the dream research institute, and last-minute plane tickets are not exactly cheap.

‘Oh, Arthur, Arthur... You’re not inviting me along as your plus-one?’

‘I’m not taking a wanted criminal to my best friend’s wedding, no matter how entertaining Mal inexplicably finds you,’ says Arthur, peering up at street names as they walk past. Not that it matters – he’s never been to Barcelona before, and he doesn’t have a street map. Eames is leading the way, for a given value of _leading_. For all Arthur knows, Eames is walking them around in circles.

At that moment a heavy raindrop falls squarely on his nose, quickly followed by a deluge. The downpour appears as if from nowhere, like a tropical storm. He must look pretty pissed at this new development, because Eames is laughing at him.

‘See?’ says Eames, over the sound of water bouncing off roofs and car windows. ‘Even the weather agrees with me. It understands the tragedy of my situation.’

‘The only tragedy of your situation is your shirt.’ He combs his hair back with his fingers, eyes stinging with hair gel melting out with the rain. ‘God, I can’t believe Dom and Mal are getting married.’

‘Are you going to have your meltdown now?’ asks Eames with interest. ‘I always assumed that was supposed to be the groom and not the best man, but I’m sure you’d be far better at hissy-fits than Dominic.’

‘Oh, shut up. It’s just weird, is all.’ It’s a stupid, whimsical idea, this feeling that the wedding is going to change everything, but he can't seem to shake it. Mal and Dom have been living together for over a year now – rings can’t possibly make that much of a difference.

‘Terribly odd,’ Eames is saying. ‘They’re barely even fond of each other. The only explanation is that Cobb must have knocked her up.’

The idea of a pregnant Mal is impossible to imagine. Presumably it will happen at some point, but Arthur’s main impression of her has always been that she was born wearing vintage Dior, a Gitane in one hand and a Blackwing 602 pencil in the other. Baby vomit does not really fit in with this image.

‘Dom looks like someone’s kicked him in the balls every time she walks in the room.’

‘Ah, love,’ says Eames with a melodramatic sigh. ‘It robs us all of our dignity in the end. I suppose that’s why I feel so willing to beg you to invite me to the wedding. Surely I’d be a better dance partner than the bridesmaids?

‘You never had any dignity to start off with,’ Arthur points out. ‘And the bridesmaids all went to private schools in Paris, so I highly doubt you’ll be able to out-dance them. At the _devout, Roman-Catholic_ wedding reception.’

‘I can’t think of an audience more receptive to my charms than a gathering of Mississippi Republicans and French Catholics,’ says Eames, all seriousness.

Arthur starts to laugh. He’s soaked to the skin, all the air in Barcelona seems to smell faintly of sewage, the only sleep he’s had in the past twenty-four hours took place on the floor of a Spanish jail cell, and he’s lost his jacket someplace along the way. It’s the best night he’s had in months.

‘No, I’m certain they’ll all love you, just like everyone always does.’ The worst thing is, he isn’t even kidding.

‘Well, not _everyone_ ,’ says Eames. ‘It’s terribly poetic that you be the one to resist me.’

Arthur rolls his eyes. He’s so far from resisting Eames that it’s barely even a joke.

‘I know a great trick for frequent flier miles,’ Eames continues. ‘Even if you’ve got your heart set on steering clear of the illustrious ranks of the Mile High Club.’

‘You’re not scamming me a plane ticket, Eames. I doubt they’d even let me on anyway, looking like this.’ He’s so drenched at this point that his shoes are squelching.

Eames looks him up and down. ‘What... No shirt, no service?’

‘I’m wearing a shirt.’

‘Ah, but I can see your nipples.’

In a move that he instantly realises is ridiculous, Arthur tries to look down and see if his shirt’s gone transparent from the rain. He glares at Eames, who is still blatantly eyeing him up. Eames blinks at him innocently.

‘Oh look, here we are,’ he says.

‘What?’

Eames points at a large, brightly-lit building coming up ahead. Barcelona is a party city and Arthur thinks it’s probably a lot more crowded round here most nights, but because of the rain there are only a couple of lonely figures trudging damply up the steps to the station. ‘You knew how to get here all along?’ he demands.

‘Possibly I took the roundabout route,' says Eames. ‘Can I deposit you here without you getting arrested again?’

Arthur doesn’t bother to remind him that it is _all Eames’ fault this happened in the first place_. That argument could go on forever, as circular and endlessly frustrating as most conversations between him and Eames.  

They reach the stairs to the station and Arthur pauses. ‘Well, be seeing you,’ he says, a little awkwardly. He won’t be particularly surprised if Eames gatecrashes the wedding, to be honest. It’s the kind of thing he’d do.

‘No proper goodbye? It’s the least I deserve for heroically leading you to safety.’

‘You led me on a wild goose chase through the pouring rain,’ Arthur corrects, but surprises himself by curling a hand around the back of Eames’ neck and drawing him in for a brief kiss.

‘Acceptable,’ murmurs Eames, failing to widen the inch of space between them once Arthur is done. ‘May I contribute?’ And he runs his hands up Arthur’s back, warm through the wetness of his shirt. Arthur thinks, _fuck it_ , and lets his eyes slide closed. He’s kissed Eames before, of course, but never in public. It seems somehow more raw out here, rain still dripping through his hair and making his ears rush with white noise.  

Eames presses him against the lamppost beside the steps, the yellow light from above gently visible through Arthur’s eyelids until Eames shifts and blocks it out. Dimly, Arthur wonders if there’s anyone out here right now who will give a damn that here they are, three in the morning with Eames hiking up his sodden shirt to press his hands into the damp skin underneath while Arthur tries to banish from his mind the fact that soon enough he’s going to be spending a horrible length of time sitting on a train without even his _phone_ , and the only dry item of clothing he’s wearing at this point is his underwear, and Eames’ hands in his waistband are allowing small, chilly rivulets of rain to reach even there as well...

Later, when people mention the Cobbs’ wedding and ask Arthur what he thought of it, Arthur will think of how he felt in the days before, like he was on a knife’s edge with his old life on one side and his life with a _married best friend_ on the other. In the unlikely event that he himself ever gets married, he doesn’t think that it will ever seem like as big of a deal as Cobb’s wedding ever did, back when Arthur was still a grad student and -- despite whatever Arthur might have said out loud -- Eames’ life outside the law still seemed somehow exotic.

He’ll voice the usual sentiments about how radiant Mal looked (which she had done, of course) and how Dom had worn that squinty expression that made him look like he’d been kicked in the balls (also true), but what Arthur will remember before anything else is his first taste of being on the run, the only sounds around them their own footsteps and rainwater gurgling in the gutters, Eames carelessly leading him down neon-illuminated side streets and finally, to the train.


End file.
